


Philza Minecraft's Home for Runaways

by starsofthemars



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Alternate Universe - Diners, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Family, Gen, Hugs, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Past Child Abuse, Phil runs a diner, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Waffles, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, as in, but actually, mostly in the past, not as in the show, runaways - Freeform, there's a warning on the chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28413723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsofthemars/pseuds/starsofthemars
Summary: It's late, no light coming in from the dark world outside the windows. As he prepares to close up the diner, Phil almost doesn't hear the quiet jingle from the door.The owner of the Sleepy Boys Diner almost seems like a magnet for runaways.Or, in which Phil adopts many stray children.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound, Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 15
Kudos: 401





	1. Techno

No light comes from outside the paned windows, the sun having gone to sleep hours ago. Phil swipes a rag across the countertop, waiting for the last customers of the day to filter out. It’s late. He glances at the clock on the wall behind him, sighing. He almost doesn't catch the near inaudible jingle of the bell above the door.

  


***

  


Techno keeps his eyes on his feet, not looking up. He knows he should pay more attention to his surroundings, but he's always had a knack for finding his way. The wind gusts down the street, pushing his hair into his eyes as he tries to decide on how long he’ll wait before heading home. He's been kicked out before, but this time he isn't sure how long his parents want him gone. He shakes himself out of his thoughts, opting to mull it over later. He doesn’t regret his decision, a flash of green in the corner of his vision catching his eye. Lying on the pavement a few feet to his left is a five dollar bill. He glances around the street, trying to spot anyone who might have dropped it. Seeing the street void of anyone but himself, he pockets the bill, pushing his hair out of his eyes, hurrying along his route. As he takes a moment more to survey the area he’s in, he settles on a destination. There’s a park near here, one his mother had taken him to a few years back. He remembers that day well, the sun, the shade of the trees, the smell of wood chips. He would've liked to go there more often, but he’d estimated it as an hour’s journey on foot. He may have been walking for a while longer than he had thought. Another block down, the lights of a building on his left catch his attention. There’s a diner, the light flooding out of its large windows illuminating the sidewalk. The sight of the restaurant reminds him of the fact that he hasn’t eaten today. He clutches the dollar bill tighter in his pocket, and after a moment’s deliberation, changes his course.  


He reaches the door, gripping the cool metal of the handle, opening it as carefully as he can. The door still jingles quietly, but the only person who turns to look at him is the man behind the counter. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself to walk forward to the counter, hopping into a bar seat. The man walks the length of the counter over to where he's seated, and Techno takes the opportunity to examine him. His hair is longish and blonde, a stubbly beard on his chin. He’s wearing white apron over loose green clothes. His eyes are blue, and he wears a green striped bucket hat. His eyes look kind, Techno determines. He decides he likes the man and his kind eyes.  


"What can I get ya?" a voice interrupts Techno’s thoughts, cheery and casual, not bringing any attention to the strangeness of the situation, like the late hour, or the fact that Techno is alone. Despite the fact he thought had readied himself, Techno still falters, freezing as he frantically searches for his words. Seeming to notice his struggle, the man takes pity on him. "Do you like waffles?" He offers, and Techno nods stiffly, relaxing slightly as the man walks back into the kitchen. For the next ten minutes, he watches the clock, occasionally looking away to watch a patron exit the establishment, trickling out until he’s the only customer left sitting in the building. A few moments later, the man returns, carrying a plate of waffles in one hand, setting it down on the counter in front of him with a click. There are two waffles stacked on the plate, and in the center there is a small pile of fruit, topped with whipped cream. Techno can’t remember the last time he ate something like this. A slight burst of panic flashes through him, and he hurriedly reaches into his pocket, pulling out the bill and placing it on the counter. The man laughs gently, pushing it back towards him. “Don’t worry about it, you can keep that.”  


"Really?" Techno asks, speaking for the first time that night.  
“Of course, I wouldn’t charge a kid. You remind me of myself when I was your age. Parents kick you out for the night?” Slightly shocked at how much the man seems to know, Techno nods.“Thought so. I’m Phil. What’s your name?”  
“Technoblade,” he replied lamely.  


“Nice to meet you.” He nods again, wishing he knew what to say to the man. He eats his waffles quietly, and Phil continues to clean and close up the shop. The fruit is fresh and sweet, and Techno thinks that he’s going to remember these waffles for a long time. All too soon, he’s done, quietly setting down his fork, but Phil still notices the exact instant he finishes the meal. His head shoots up slightly, as though he’s remembered something.  
“That reminds me, do you need a place to stay tonight?” Techno gapes at the man, eyes wide. The man seems to suppress a laugh, and continues. “I’ve got too many spare rooms here, just gathering dust, and I wouldn’t mind letting you stay for a while. I’d be repaying an old favor.” He’s not sure what Phil means by that, but this seems too good to be true.  


“Are you sure?” he asks. The man smiles again.  
“I’m sure. I owe it to someone.”  
“If it’s really okay, then I’d like to stay for tonight.” Phil smiles again, and he watches the way it reaches his eyes as he picks up the dirty plate.  
“Right this way then.”  


He stays the night, and a fair bit longer, too. The first night he spends mainly staring into the dark of the room Phil had prepared for him, his nervous brain not allowing him to rest. It’s… different, living here with Phil. But he soon comes to like it here, the routine of the diner. Phil’s seemingly endless patience, waking to breakfast each morning, it almost seems too wonderful to be real. Each additional day he stays here, the more he loves it. The helping Phil in the kitchen, the quiet nights when they both read upstairs in the living room, the pattern of life soothing his daily anxieties. But at the same time, the longer he stays, the more he fears losing this. Every day he wakes up and nothing goes wrong, the more the voice in his head nags at him that he’ll have to leave soon. But Techno presses that voice down to the best of his abilities, trying his hardest to enjoy the present. He continues to live like this for almost a year, but soon enough, change forced its way into his little haven. And when it did, it came in the form of a boy named Wilbur.


	2. Wilbur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wilbur comes to stay.

Like most people, Wilbur doesn’t remember much of his life before the age of five. What he does remember is that he was happy. Past that age, his memory remains a little blurry until he’s about seven. He remembers that same happy feeling, but he also remembers travelling. He remembers being constantly on the move, never staying in one place for too long. His home was always changing, but it was okay, because no matter where he was, his mother was always there with him. Wilbur remembers his mother very well. She was a kind woman, the type of person who never ran out of things to say. She had always been spontaneous, ready for anything at the drop of a hat. Something she had not been ready for, however, was a child. Despite that, when Wilbur came, she tried her hardest to provide him with a good life. She was a hard worker, and Wilbur had known nothing but love for as long as he had been in the world. But at heart she was a wanderer, she loved to go places, to experience things, and she couldn’t stand to settle down for too long. Even her job had her travelling the world. And so, little Wilbur saw more of the world before he was ten years old than most people will see in a lifetime. Another thing his mother loved was music. She loved to sing, to play instruments, always humming a tune as she went about whatever she was doing. She taught Wilbur guitar, giving him one of his own for the first time on his seventh birthday. But change is a constant in the stream of life, and so, shortly after his eleventh birthday, he found himself here, gripping the handle of his suitcase, alone, in an airport.  


  
Ada had never been one to do things the conventional way, Phil mused, hanging up the phone on his old friend. She always did things her way, no matter what, so it was probably for the best that he had accepted her proposal. Wilbur needed a stable home, she had decided, a consistent place to live. She had decided that Phil would fill the role perfectly, citing the fact that he had a kid of his own near to Wilbur’s age, and that she thought it would be good for the boy to stay a while with him. Another kid, he thought, opening the door to the room next to Techno’s. That’s right, Techno. How would the boy respond to the news? Phil doubted that he would like the idea, but if he knew Techno, he knew he would adapt. It was something the boy was good at. Finding a way to live and thrive in any situation, he thought, pulling a fresh sheet over the bed.  


"Techno, can you come sit with me? We need to talk." Techno's heart froze in his chest. Had he finally overstayed his welcome? He started to think back, desperately scanning his own actions, trying to find his mistake.  
"It's nothing bad, don't worry. You're not in trouble." He wasn't sure he could believe that, but he still made his way down the hall, sliding into the couch across from Phil. "Thank you, Techno, and I promise it's not anything bad. I'm just not sure you'll like it at first."  


  
***

  


“Techno? We’re back!” Phil calls, holding the door open for a boy about Techno’s age. When Techno goes to do his once-over of Wilbur, the boy meets his gaze head-on. He takes note of his curious brown eyes, scanning the room as though trying to take in every detail at once. He was carrying a suitcase, and he had a guitar case slung over his back. His sweater was a cheery yellow, and his fluffy brown hair struggled to stay out of his eyes. 

"Are you Technoblade? I'm Wilbur. Do you like music too?" The boy askes, somehow seeming shy but unwavering at the same time.  
“I guess,” Techno answers, deciding that Wilbur seems alright enough. If he was going to have to share Phil with another person, Wilbur seemed as good as any.  


  
When Wilbur wakes up the next morning in the unfamiliar room, in the unfamiliar bed, (which isn't too unfamiliar a situation), it takes him a moment to remember where he is. And a moment longer to realize that when he gets up, it won’t be his mother there waiting for him. It'll be Phil. And he likes Phil just fine, but he doesn't think that Phil will ever be as good as his mom. His eyes sting. He represses the urge to cry, glaring at the phone on his nightstand. It’s an old flip phone, with only one contact number saved into it. His mother had given it to him the day he left.  
  
When he finally leaves his room that morning, he’s greeted by Techno, eating a plate of waffles, another plate set nearby. He points toward it.  
“That’s for you.”  
“Thanks,” he replies. They sit in awkward silence for a few moments before Wilbur decides to attempt a conversation. "So, how old are you again?"  
“Eleven,” Techno replies simply, not looking up from his plate.  
“Me too,” Wilbur says. They continue on like that, Wilbur asking questions, and Techno giving short, concise answers. Until they finally come to the topic of birthdays.  
“July 23rd,” Techno states, not looking at Wilbur as his face flashes with astonishment.  
“Are you serious? That’s my birthday, too.” Techno looks at him for a moment, before turning away again.  
“Bet I’m older,” he finally murmurs under his breath, and a shocked grin spreads its way across Wilbur’s face.  
“No way you’re older than me,” he says, wrinkling his nose at the idea. “Does this mean we’re twins?” He asks, and Techno looks like he almost laughs.  
“No, we have different parents, that’s not how it works.”  
“But we were born on the same day. And we live here together now, so, as far as I’m concerned, we’re twins.” Techno rolls his eyes, sighing, lips fighting a smile.  
“Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I procrastinated on posting this for so long


	3. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno and Phil aren't expecting it when an angry Wilbur comes rushing into the diner, and it seems neither was the boy he's dragging along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mild child abuse, to be specific, someone is slapped and there is a mention of neglect

Neither Phil nor Techno are expecting it when a fuming Wilbur forces open the diner door, dragging a boy by the hand. Phil sets down the water pitcher he’s holding, grateful that today’s not a busy day. Wilbur storms right up to the counter where Techno’s seated, hauling the boy along after him. Phil takes a moment to look at the boy. He can’t be much older than six, his hair is blonde and messy, and his knees are plastered with bandaids under his cargo shorts. He slaps at Wilbur’s grip on his wrist with his free hand, squawking in indignation when the older boy shoots him a glare.

***

Tommy’s day had been completely normal. That is, until this brown haired moron had decided to get involved in what wasn’t even his business. His mother had dragged him along with her on some errands, and really, he was just happy that he wasn’t gonna be left home alone again. He hadn’t meant to get lost, but in his defence, the farmer’s market was obviously structured against him. All those white canopy tents, all the people carrying bags rushing past him, making a wall he couldn’t see over, you really couldn’t blame him. But anyway, he couldn’t see his mom anywhere, and that was probably a problem. Looking around the crowded marketplace, he soon forgot his objective in favor of simply watching the people as they hurried past. No one paid much attention to him, all of them bustling by with some big, important thing to do. He finds a seat on a cement wall, watching flurries of people pass by. That is, until a familiar hand grabbed his arm roughly.  
“There you are, you little brat. Didn’t I tell you not to get lost?”  
“But mom-”  
“Don’t talk back. We’re leaving.”  
“I-” The slap across his face wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was unexpected. But what was even more surprising was the boy who pushed his way in front of him.  
“You shouldn’t hit him! That’s mean.” His mother glared at the brown haired boy who had shoved himself in between them.  
“What are you doing sticking your head in other people’s business? He’s my son, I can treat and discipline him as I see fit.”  
“A mom shouldn’t hurt her kid. Neither my mom or Phil would ever do that. Besides, what could he have even possibly done?”  
“Little boy, this has nothing to do with you. If he gets lost after I tell him to stay close, it’s his fault. He needs to know there are consequences to his actions.” The boy’s brow furrows and he frowns.  
“D-Phil’s always telling Techno not to apologize unless he makes a mistake or hurts anyone. So he would just have to apologize for his mistake. And him getting lost didn’t hurt anyone, so you need to say sorry for hitting him.”  
“I am his parent, I know what’s best for him. I don’t need to apologize for trying to raise him well. I certainly don’t want him to turn out like you. It seems as though your mother certainly failed to teach you some manners.” The boy in front of him bristles, seemingly taking the jab straight to heart.  
“Alright, if you won’t treat him nice, Phil will!” And with that, the boy grabs his hand and takes off across the farmer’s market. For a moment, it looks as though Tommy’s mother is going to put up chase, but then she just shakes her head and watches them leave. 

It isn’t until he’s pulled through the doorway of a diner that he starts to grasp what’s happening.

He’s dragged straight up to the counter, where a boy about the age of the one gripping his wrist is seated, eyeing them almost nervously, but more confused than anything else.  
“Wilbur?” a voice asks, and he takes note of the man behind the counter for the first time. The boy grits his teeth, glaring intensely at the countertop.  
“What’re you doing with the kid?” the other boy asks, but again- Wilbur?- doesn’t respond.  
“Wilbur, bud, I need you to tell me what’s happening.”  
“He just dragged me all the way here is what’s happening! He fought with my mom and then took me here. It was really weird!” The man raises an eyebrow.  
“Will, is this true?”  
“She was a mean lady,” he seethes.  
“Wil-”  
“She slapped him across the face! And then she wouldn’t apologize, and then she said she could treat her kid how she wanted, and then she insulted mom, and then-”  
“Wait.” The man’s face is more serious for a second, but then he smiles again, not quite reaching his eyes. He crosses his arms and rests them on the counter, leaning down to look at Tommy.  
“What’s your name, kid?”  
“Tommy.”  
“I’m Phil. This is Wilbur, and that’s Techno. Did your mom hit you?”  
“Well, yeah, but it was because I got lost. Although, It really wasn't my fault, I mean, have you seen the farmer’s market? It’s like it was designed to get me lost. I bet they made it like that just so kids would get lost in it, all the tents that look the same and the crowds. And besides, it’s really interesting to just watch all the people go, because they all act like they’ve got this super-mega-important thing to do, but I don’t think any of them really have such an important thing to do. And they all-” he cuts himself off abruptly, realizing that he’s been talking too much. “Sorry,” he mutters quietly, looking at the floor.  
“There’s no need to apologize, you didn’t do anything. Don’t worry about it.” Tommy’s head snaps up to look at Phil, confusion clear on his face.  
“But I was talking too much. Mom says children should be seen and not heard, and not to talk unless I have something actually important to say.” Wilbur looks just as angry, and now Phil’s expression seems underlined in anger too. Techno sits quietly, as though he’s not sure what to feel or say.  
“Your mom seems to have some conflicting viewpoints with me. Wilbur, did you really just steal this kid from his mom?” Wilbur crosses his arms.  
“So what? He needs people to be nice to him, just like Techno needs to learn he’s not always in the wrong.” Phil sighs, a trace of a smile under his features.  
“Well, Tommy, since I have no clue where your mother is, how would you like to spend the night?”

It’s not that day, but the next one, late in the evening, when a knock sounds at the door. Wilbur glances up from _The Phantom Tollbooth_ , catching the nervous gaze of Techno, who’s sat next to him, reading from the same book. Tommy is seated on the floor in front of the sofa, flipping through the pictures in the pages of a big book. Phil sighs as though he’s been expecting this, setting down his own book and standing. He disappears down the stairs. Wilbur tries to return to his book, but his ears instinctively tune into the sound of a door closing, and when he focuses, after a few moments he can make out the tones of two voices beneath them. He knows Tommy is the only one still focused on his book, as he watches Techno stare into space, knowing the other boy can hear the voices just as well as him. He almost flinches at the sudden rising of the voice of the woman he knows is Tommy’s mother. Her voice cresendoes, and Tommy looks up from his book.  
“Is that mom?” Wilbur nods solemnly. Tommy listens for another moment. “I don’t wanna go home while she’s like this. Can she come back tomorrow?” He gets no response. Suddenly another loud voice breaks the pause, a voice Wilbur has never heard so angry before. Techno grips Wilbur’s arm hard, a trace of fear flashing across his features. Wilbur feels pure shock. The voice from downstairs continues. Phil is yelling back at her, he realizes. He struggles to process that for a moment, and the yelling stops. He hears a few more words from the voices, and a door slams. Footsteps make their way up the stairs, and Phil closes the door gently behind him like always, as though nothing’s happened. But Wilbur can see the rigidity in his posture, the tightness to his smile. That is, until he exhales a laugh, pressing his back against the door. And just like that, time starts moving again. Techno lets go of his wrist, looking at Phil as though seeing him for the first time, like he’s a stranger. He sits there for another minute, not really wanting to be the first to make a move, but then Techno launches himself off the couch, and before Wilbur can blink, he’s reached Phil, wrapping his arms around him and burrowing his face into his chest. Phil laughs, closing his arms around the boy. Then the moment is over, and they all go back to their respective seats.  
“Well, Tommy, looks like you might be staying here for a little while longer.” The boy seems to mull it over for a moment, before making a decision.  
“Alright. But I get to say as much as I like, important or not.”  
“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any ideas, feel free to tell me some names for Tubbo's bee in future chapters. Also-  
> Everyone who's commented on this: thank you so much! You mean the world to me!


End file.
